Ghost
by peroxidepest17
Summary: Doyle learns to let go


Title: Ghost  
  
Author: Celeste  
  
Dedicated: To PRISM! LOL My advisor/editor. Cause I don't have a backbone of my own and I need her. ;P   
  
Genre: Some angst, a little romance, a lot of drabble.   
  
Rating: A "G" with angst warning. :P Cause I was in the mood. LOL  
  
Disclaimer: Joss own's em. But if I were him and in the possession of such fun characters I'd treat em better. :P  
  
Pairings: C/A, elements of C/D   
  
Distribution: Ask an' ye shall receive darlin'. ;P   
  
Feedback: (keviesprincess@netscape.net) I live for it. But please, no flames. I've been hurt before you know. *EG*  
  
Soundtrack: Okay, I know, weird thing to put, but music is an essential element in my writing and I thought I'd share what helped inspire this (besides Prism :P). BBMak's "Ghost of You and Me" is the song that the lyrics are from. It's really quite beautiful.   
Summary: Doyle and Cordelia come to terms with his death. (Post "Billy", Pre "Offspring" or something to that effect)  
  
Notes: My Big Angel fic debut! Duh dah duh! So be nice. Or not, whichever is fine. Okay, also, this is assuming Gunn doesn't know about Dennis. Just humor me, I felt like some silliness in my otherwise drab presentations. My muse does that sometimes. And for the record, I never really forgave Wesley for coming in RIGHT after Doyle died, so I make fun of him. If you do like him, er... *shrug* all comments defending Wesley will be noted and filed far, far away from my conscious mind. Viva Doyle! Anyway, I'll be the first Denialist to admit it and say C/A is goddamned cute. Not as cute as S/B *snicker* but hey, it's a step in the right direction. (My muse is also the champion of the "Down With The B/A Whinyness!" campaign for the record, and I can't get it to stop.) Right, off topic. As I was saying, the recent developments of C/A on the show sort of inspired this, because before then, the only potential romance I saw on ATS was C/D, and then they KILLED Doyle...but the prospects for love were revived with that whole "man-pire" conversation in "OffSpring." I'm such a sucker for goofy Angel. Hehe.   
Also, I started this about two years ago at the end of S1 so some things that i was too lazy to edit might not quite fit the current situation. It was originally suposed to be Gunn/Cordy instead of C/A b/c of all the rumors I had been hearing over the summer about a possible C/G romance. I got about halfway through with it and i wasn't satisfied at all, so I let it sit until about three weeks ago. LOL Eh, just forgive to big mistakes. ;P  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
What am I supposed to do,  
With all these blues?  
Haunting me everywhere  
No matter what I do  
  
  
  
"Thanks, Dennis..." Cordelia sighed quietly when the phantom turned off her television after the TV movie had ended. Fade to black. If it hadn't been for her living with a ghost, she probably would have sat and stared at the screen the entire length of the credits, mulling over everything in her mind, *over* and *over* again. She would think about how the main character could have saved her lover if only she had done better, thought faster, changed sooner... realized things SOONER. Cordelia wondered vaguely how she could have saved her own. Dabbing gingerly at her face with a tissue after the two hours spent watching the story unfold with a kind of religious affliction, she wiped the mist from her eyes. It had been about love that never had a chance to blossom before it was ripped apart by forces stronger than it. "Story of my life..." she mumbled before pushing herself up and grabbing the empty popcorn bowl as she headed to the kitchen.  
  
  
Doyle sighed quietly and looked back at the young man beside him. "She still thinks it's you..." he said quietly, painfully. Torn in indecision, as he was every night when watching her.  
  
  
Dennis looked sympathetic and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You could let her know...all you'd have to do is..."  
  
  
"Nah..." Doyle pulled back with a shrug and sniffed indiscriminately. "I don't want to hurt her anymore than she does."  
  
  
"She's what's keeping you here, you know."  
  
  
Doyle nodded. "I know. I'm glad." He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and looked longingly into the kitchen where she washed the dishes and hummed quietly to herself in consolation. She had a beautiful voice.  
  
  
Dennis watched the other ghost watch her. The thing tying him here, keeping him out of heaven. If he could just stop holding on... he could float away into bliss. Into a world of happiness where these feelings of helplessness and loss would not torment the Irishman for eternity. "Why can't you let her go?" he asked after a moment of eerie silence.  
  
  
Doyle thought for moments longer after his look of surprise at the quiet question turned to an expression of careful perusal. He licked dry lips and inhaled unneeded air before answering. "I'd lose everything. Heaven doesn't look so good as her..." he admitted after a time, his voice tinged with remorse. "They make you forget in heaven, ya know? Wipe yer memory of anything that hurts, so ye can just live, aimlessly happy, not knowin', not rememberin' what ya left behind. I couldn't forgive myself if I forgot that." He turned his gaze from Cordy to the floor.  
  
  
"Just one word in her ear would send you to heaven. You'd be at peace forever, Doyle."  
  
  
"I can't tell her goodbye, Dennis," Doyle choked out, glancing back up at one who had died even younger than he. "I don't want it to be goodbye between me'n her."  
  
  
"It wouldn't be forever."  
  
  
"It would still be too long."  
  
  
Dennis's was a quiet sigh of resignation before he headed into the kitchen to get himself a soda. It didn't really taste like anything to the phantoms, and there was no nutritional value of any sort to be had from drinking altogether, but there was a twinge of normalcy in the feel of cool liquid sliding down their throats which gave them some small amount of comfort, despite their status as non-living. Dennis popped the top and sipped it easily.   
  
  
"I'm going to sleep," he announced to his companion after finishing his drink and tossing his can into the recycle bin.  
  
  
Doyle's was an almost invisible nod as he watched Dennis walk by. Before he did though, the Irishman touched his arm timidly. "I'm sorry."  
  
  
Dennis shrugged. "You don't have to be...we all have our reasons," he responded automatically, before walking through the wall to where he slept.  
  
  
He knew that Doyle's apology had been sincere... something in it saying that if he could, the Irishman would give up his place in heaven for Dennis without hesitation. But Dennis was tied here by something different than Doyle was. He was bound by something that wouldn't be resolved as easily as the words "goodbye" and one last kiss. Dennis's anger kept him here. The anger at being taken from his the world by his mother. The anger that had been his last conscious thought before his asphyxiation. The anger that hadn't been resolved even after his revenge. It was still there. And every time he tried to let it go, convinced himself it was gone, before preparing to be taken into the light, it didn't work. He was, and probably would always be, a ghost. For all of eternity. The anger at the injustice would plague him forever. And he hated that.  
  
  
In opposition to his own situation, Doyle's last thoughts before death were of love and sacrifice, and those were what tied the Irishman here. Doyle refused to let go and forget of Cordelia from his dying moment to now, until who knew how long. For Doyle, living blissfully without her in heaven was worse than hell. They were different that way, Dennis supposed. The irony would have killed him if he wasn't dead already. The one that wanted to be whisked away to heaven, and eternal peace, could not go. The one who could be put to rest forever, refused to go.  
  
  
Looking up towards the place that would allow him no entrance, Dennis smiled a rueful smile and took some rest. He dreamt of heavenly bliss, because in his dreams, it wasn't quite so unattainable. There, in his mind's eye, he could reach it.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Watching the candle flicker out  
In the evening glow,  
I can't let go  
When will the night be over?  
  
  
  
Doyle waited until he heard Delia climb into bed before stepping through the wall. He didn't want to catch her at an improper moment. Dead or not, he still liked to think of himself as gentlemanly. In the loosest sense of the word, of course.  
  
  
He smiled and watched her don stylish reading glasses before opening a book (self help of course) and delving into it wholeheartedly. Oddly enough, it made her feel normal. Like a regular person dealing with regular problems. It was comforting. She even read certain paragraphs out loud, and he found comfort in hearing her voice. With no one else in the room, it was almost as if she were talking to him.  
  
  
"People respect your drive and determination but most of all your intelligence and spirit..." she read aloud, closing her eyes as she did.  
  
  
*That they do, Princess...* Doyle replied in an affectionate whisper.  
  
  
"Your dedication and your professionalism are admired only next to your cheerful personality and honesty."  
  
  
*Your BEAUTIFUL personality,* he corrected dotingly.  
  
  
"You are loved by everyone around you for everything ABOUT you..."  
  
  
*Can't argue with tha' one Princess...*  
  
  
And so their night went, until, satisfied, Cordelia studiously marked the place she had decided to stop and set the book down atop her nightstand. Doyle reached over before she could and flipped the lamp off with a soft "click".  
  
  
Used to such things happening, Cordy smiled sleepily and snuggled into her blankets. "Thanks, Dennis..." she whispered almost inaudibly.  
  
  
He brushed her cheek with his hand, but as he had for so long now, he did not correct her. He could have written his name on the wall or on a slip of paper just to let her know he was here, but he would save her that. Those wounds were just about ready to heal for her. She looked to be moving on with her life now, and he was glad, because he loved her.   
  
  
He watched her drift slowly into a peaceful slumber, as he did each night since his death, with gentle enchantment and the wistful pining of the hopeless. He marveled at the planes of her face, how peaceful and soft they became in something as innocent and sleep. Dennis asked him all the time how he could sit and pass entire nights at the edge of her bed, just watching, so easily. A rueful smile creased his lips. How could he not? And it wasn't that he didn't have the time... Dismissing the thought, he instead, leaned down and gently kissed her forehead. It was at these times, late into the night, when he allowed himself his small comforts. Sometimes as he sat watching her, he would tell her things. Tell her about how it was really him throwing books at Wesley because he liked the way the man screamed like a five year old. He would whisper in her ear about how whipped she had Angel because the simple act of smiling at him or batting her eyelashes sent the vampire off to do her every want or whim because she was that enchanting.   
  
  
He told her about how glad he was that he could watch over her and how sorry he was when she sometimes woke up in the middle of the night crying and calling his name that he wasn't able to hold her and keen quiet words of reassurance into her ears.  
  
  
He talked about how he wished they could share coffee in front of the old office again even though the hotel was looking great, and how he wished they had one last late night research session just so he could watch her nose crinkle when she flipped through the dusty pages of some archaic book of shadows. Or...how he wanted, least of all and most of all at the same time, to let her know that he saw how she had smiled when Angel had come over last week for dinner and that he was okay with it.  
  
  
Tonight he told her again, and again, with gentle ghostly caresses and faint murmurs in the wind. And when he was finished pouring his heart out into ears that could not hear his proclamations, he resigned himself and kissed her on the lips softly, lingering a moment longer than usual before uttering a tender, "Sweet dreams, Princess" as the sun came up.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
  
I didn't mean to fall in love with you,  
And baby there's a name   
For what you put me through  
It isn't love, it's robbery  
I'm sleeping with the ghost of you and me  
  
  
  
Cordelia awoke in a haze of warmth; from the way one's body tends to radiate heat when sleeping come morning. The would-be actress started to become aware of the world in a sluggish, heady mist. She batted an eye open with great effort and noted that it was ten. She closed it again and rolled over. Now she was awake. For some reason, whenever she did that, she half expected to find a body to be lying beside her, another being attributing to the warmth she lay in. But she only came upon emptiness, and the coldness that often times accompanies it. Sitting upright, she yawned into her hand delicately before shoving the covers off and dragging herself into the bathroom for a hot shower before heading off to the hotel. She wrinkled her nose, unconsciously.   
  
  
He listened to her song while the water droplets sprayed from the shower to hit the floor with pinprick splats. She always had an uncanny way of being cheery in the mornings and it never ceased to amaze him. Shaking his head, he stepped through the doorframe of the kitchen from the living room and opened the fridge, getting a soda. Hard to believe she still wasn't even old enough to get some beer. He opened the can with a "chink" and downed it. For old time's sake.   
  
  
After some time and musings passed, the doorbell rang. Doyle looked up at the clock. Right on time, 10:30 exact. Wesley was here to whisk her away for another day of saving souls. He opened the door to let the bustling Englishman in. Only, not. The look on Gunn's face when the door opened of it's own accord was priceless.   
  
  
"What the... Cordelia!" he shoved through the door brashly.  
  
  
She stepped out of the shower in her robe and nearly jumped when Gunn attempted to barrel through her. "Gunn! Hello, bedroom!" she waved her arms towards the bed and the closet to illustrate her point. "Does the word 'boundaries' mean nothing to you?!" she fumed, after getting over her initial shock.   
  
  
"But you've got..." the young man sputtered, indignant and confused all at the same time. He pointed back in the direction he had come from.  
  
  
"I HAVE no clothes on, so OUT!" she shoved him through the frame and closed the door, taking care that he heard the ominous click of the door locking behind him.   
  
  
"There's some freaky stuff goin' on in here..." Gunn muttered to himself, sitting down on the couch and letting his gaze shift over the room every now and again. He still felt like someone or something he really couldn't see was scrutinizing him. Shifting nervously, he counted to five. "Cordelia! Can we go?!"  
  
  
She stuck her head out of the door. "I have a ghost. His name is Dennis, be nice..." she answered tersely before ducking back in to resume dressing. It was hard to be perfect in such a short amount of time, but somehow, she would pull it off.   
  
  
Gunn sputtered some more but resigned himself once the door was shut in his face, again. Sighing, he leaned back to make himself comfortable. Looking upward, he attempted to address Dennis. "So...what's up?"   
  
  
  
Doyle was very amused. Grudgingly, he decided he sort of liked this Gunn. The phantom Irishman floated the lamp on the nightstand to acknowledge the greeting when the young man spoke.   
  
  
Dennis just shook his head, peeking through the wall. "Doyle, don't antagonize him, people just get scared and we get put into that whole ghost stereotype even worse than before..."  
  
  
Doyle laughed and shrugged, thoroughly enjoying the young man's reaction.   
"Cordy... we should go!" Gunn called out, regarding the floating lamp wearily.   
  
  
"Ugh! Five more minutes!" she compromised, fixing her hair with the speedy precision of a long time expert.   
  
  
After a second Doyle put down the lamp, much to Gunn's relief. Then he sat down next to him. "So you're the new one that Delia's been talkin' bout... the self-destructive one, yah?" he stated, more to himself than anyone.   
  
  
"Okay, I'm ready..." Cordy came out, dressed casually (yet stylishly) in blue Adidas workout pants and a white A&F athletics baby tee. Doyle and Dennis both heard Gunn's annoyed grumbling under his breath about 'women'.  
  
  
"Let's roll then," Gunn returned evenly, turning around quickly so as to avoid looking at her in all her stunning glory. She smiled and grabbed her bag off the couch before stepping after him.  
  
  
"Later, Dennis..." Gunn called out before allowing Cordy past him and closing the door. Just to be polite. He really didn't want to be on any benevolent spirit's hit list, after all.  
  
  
Doyle grinned and followed them outside. "Goin' ta work with 'em today Dennis, be back tonight!" he called back to his haunting-mate.   
  
  
Dennis shook his head in a sort of resigned fashion as he watched Doyle slide out through the wall.   
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Seen a lot of broken hearts  
Go sailing by  
Phantom ships lost at sea,  
And one of them is mine  
  
  
  
"Good morning," Wesley greeted; looking up as the doors swung open and Gunn and Cordelia strolled through.  
  
  
"Brought donuts," Gunn announced, tossing a pink box on the counter.   
  
  
"And coffee!" Cordy sung brightly, tray in hand. She set it on the counter next to the donuts and proceeded to hand out Gunn's regular black, Wesley's frappachino (which Gunn called the "girlie coffee"), and Fred's mocha java. Left with two cups, one her latte and the other Angel's mocha. Seeing no one to jump on that last cup, she looked around. "Where's Angel?"  
  
  
"In the basement," Fred responded, scurrying up to dig through the box of donuts, her drink in one hand. She smiled brilliantly when she came up with a chocolate with rainbow sprinkles. Gunn grinned back, and to the side, Wesley scowled. Cordelia ignored them, because she of all people knew how office place romances worked out. Or rather, didn't work out. Something tugged unpleasantly at her stomach at the thought, and she quickly dismissed it from her mind. Instead, she picked up her latte and popped the cap, taking a quick sip, and smiling blissfully.   
  
  
"Cordelia, I think he's waiting for you," Wesley murmured, looking over the rims of his glasses at her, in a way she always found rather condescending. Ever since Wesley had decided to call himself head honcho, he'd been doing that more and more often. She hated it.   
  
  
"Yeah, I'm going," she responded irately, setting her drink aside. She began to stretch her arms and hop up and down, limbering up for her session. "You know Wes, I think you should let Angel train you too," she stated thoughtfully, in between bounces.   
  
  
He looked at her again, in that same infuriating manner. "Are you suggesting that I don't know how to handle myself in a fight, Cordelia?"  
  
  
"What? No!" She paused. "Well, maybe, yes. A little. I mean, Gunn and Angel have always been able to really kick your ass, but now, even I'M getting there, and hey, Fred did it last week with the fire hydrant..."  
  
  
"Cordelia..." His voice took on an annoyed timbre.   
  
  
She shrugged. "Geez, no offense or anything. I was just thinking, you know, Angel's really good at the whole teaching thing. And you'd probably get less concussions if you learned a thing or two from him." Her eyebrows darted up in a gesture that dared him to argue with her logic.  
  
  
The former Watcher rubbed his head at the bad reminder. "This had nothing to do with my fighting."  
  
  
"Unless you count it up to a loss against a really big puddle of water," Gunn grinned. Wesley scowled at the jab.   
  
  
"It wasn't my fault that that inane janitor forgot that the caution sign goes up next to the actual puddle!" Wesley protested.   
  
  
"Well, it was sorta off to the side," Fred amended, looking at Wesley sympathetically.  
  
  
"Thank you, Fred."  
  
  
"Ah mean, even if it WAS bright orange, ah kin see how it...mighta been hard ta see?" she added, unsure.   
  
  
Gunn snorted.   
  
  
"As great as making fun of Wesley all afternoon sounds, I'm off for another fun filled day of kicking Angel's lily ass. Don't have too much fun without me!" Cordelia announced, heading towards the basement door before an all out verbal war could start between those two.   
  
  
  
Doyle, having watched the entire exchange with no small amount of interest, grinned and knocked Wesley's cup of coffee over, spilling it onto the papers he had been looking at. "Bloody hell!!" the Brit exclaimed, jumping up with a high-pitched screech to avoid getting himself scalded.   
  
  
"Quick Fred, better get something to mop that up. It gets on the floor and Wes might have to tackle it, like last time."  
  
  
Wesley glared at Gunn. "Very amusing, thank you."  
  
  
Gunn flashed a snarky grin, and Doyle decided he liked the street brawler as he headed to the basement.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
  
Raising my glass   
I sing a toast to the midnight sky  
I wonder why,  
The stars don't seem to guide me  
  
  
  
Angel studied the sword he had clutched in hand, mentally noting that he'd have to sharpen it after his session with Cordelia today. Where was she, anyway? He'd been down here, waiting for her for... wait, no. He hadn't been waiting for her. What was he thinking? He'd just been down here early, preparing. Right. Yes. He wasn't really sitting here, with a sword in his hand, waiting for her and thinking for no good reason. He was... uh, he was mentally mapping out today's lesson with her. That was it. Of course. What else would it be?   
  
  
Then he remembered that they'd already done the sword thing. Mace? No, that wasn't Cordy's style. It seemed too, bangy for her. Did that even make sense? Bangy? He shook his head. It was probably too heavy for her, he reconciled. Cordy, she was fluid. Every way she moved was smooth, from one point to another. Her style didn't involve the clumsy crash and bash of a mace. She was more of a, "whoosh" type of person. To illustrate, he brought the sword around in one speedy motion, and let the blade cut through the air with a sharp whistle. Yeah, like that. Whoosh.   
  
  
"Not starting without me, are you?"  
  
  
Angel nearly jumped, and for some odd reason, his first reflex was to put the sword behind his back. "Cordy. Hi."  
  
  
Her eyebrows arched in the most delicious manner. "Hi. Not interrupting something, am I?"   
  
  
"What? This? No..." Angel brought the weapon out in front of him. "Just a sword. I got bored waiting, so I started playing with my sword." He stopped, realizing what he'd just said. "The weapon," he added hastily, moving the blade around in his hands.  
  
  
Cordy nodded and stretched her neck, her head going from one side to the other. Angel wondered if she did that on purpose, knowing the way he felt about throats. Especially one that looked like that one did...  
  
  
"You gonna let me have a crack at that bad boy?" she reached for him.  
  
  
Angel's mind reeled. "What?"  
  
  
"The sword, retard."  
  
  
"Oh. Yeah. Sword." He laughed, embarrassed. "Of course. If you want to."  
  
  
She motioned with her outstretched hands. He handed her the weapon. She instantly balanced it with her arm, and took an experimental swing. "So, you going to teach me how to skewer some demon scum?"   
  
  
  
Doyle winced upon hearing this, and took a seat on one of the stairs, watching. So this was her reason for the sudden boost in athletic wear. Nice. She was learning how to...skewer demon scum. He sighed and told himself that she hadn't been talking about him, specifically, or generally. Just, the bad demons. He sighed. Were there any good ones?  
  
  
  
"Skewer?" Angel asked, questioning look on his face.  
  
  
She nodded. "Duh, kill the demons that are trying to eat me?"  
  
  
"Eat you?"  
  
  
"Like demons sometimes do..."  
  
  
"Oh, right. Okay. Well, I think, if a demon is trying to eat you, you'd be better off striking to stun and then running..."  
  
  
She looked indignant. "You don't think I can do it! You don't think I can kill them!"  
  
  
"What? No! Of course I think you can do it. I just... hope you won't ever have to with me around."  
  
  
Doyle winced in the background. *Wrong thing to say, Boyo,* he thought with a frown. Delia definitely wouldn't like that.   
  
  
"So you're absolutely convinced that you'll ALWAYS be around to protect me, whenever I need you?" Cordy asked rhetorically, a tinge of humor in her voice to let Angel know she wasn't mad, just annoyed.  
  
  
Angel however, must have missed the boat. "Yes."  
  
  
"Yes?" Her expression told him he had one last try to talk his way out of this.   
  
  
He nodded, and looked downward. "Well, I figure that the second I can't protect you anymore, it's because whatever was trying to hurt you killed me," he answered honestly.  
  
  
Cordelia's eyes flickered with some surprise. "Oh."   
  
  
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. "So... why don't we get to work?" Angel suggested, voice not betraying any of the somber thoughts that had egged his mind at her question.   
  
  
She rebounded back just as well. "Sure."  
  
  
  
Doyle watched them spar for the rest of the afternoon, and with grudging admiration towards Angel's skill, decided that Cordy had officially become an even greater force to reckon with. He tried not to think about where the vampire's hands were on her hips. As the hours drew on, a thin sheen of perspiration covered Cordelia, and she stopped the session briefly to allow her to towel off.   
  
  
Both Doyle and Angel watched her appreciatively. After a minute Doyle realized by the tilt of Angel's head and the occasional deep breath he involuntarily took, that his friend's thoughts were exactly where his own were. At first, the ghost was slightly hurt by the betrayal, before the rational part of himself told him in no uncertain terms that Angel really couldn't be blamed for Cordy's beauty. Sighing, Doyle relaxed and watched some more.   
  
  
  
"Relax," Angel coached gently, a few hours and many breaks later.   
  
  
"I am relaxed."  
  
  
His hand moved to a tense muscle in her back, and he rubbed at it absently. "So what's this?"  
  
  
"Anticipation," she murmured back, leaning into his touch a little.   
  
  
"Okay, relaxing a little too much," Angel instructed, voice straining a bit. He swallowed heavily and moved his hands onto her arms. "Now, shift your weight." He nudged the back of her knee with his leg to better place it. Feeling her body respond to his commands, he let her get a feel for the position. "Good. Now take me over you. That's right. A little more...no, a little more. If it's too much, stop, okay?"  
  
  
"It's not too much. I can handle it."  
  
  
"Sure?"  
  
  
"Yes!"  
  
  
"Okay... use your legs. Ready?"   
  
  
"Yes."  
  
  
"Okay, now!!!"  
  
  
"UGH!!"   
  
  
  
Doyle chuckled a little to himself as Cordelia thrust her hip back against Angel and pulled his entire weight over her shoulder, sending him sprawling onto the floor, flat on his back. He laughed harder when Cordelia lost her balance and she followed the vampire's fate, landing half on top of him, and half off, head banging against his chest.   
  
  
  
"Well, you almost had it," Angel breathed, chuckling.  
  
  
"Ouch," Cordy murmured wearily, resting her head against him. "It's not my fault you're so damn heavy."   
  
  
"You think I'm heavy?"  
  
  
"Well duh," she responded, closing her eyes a little bit. "Wear me out."  
  
  
For the first time in so many minutes, Angel realized what the two of them must look like. And he was suddenly glad for his lack of heartbeat, because had it been there, his excitement would be thundering in her ear this very moment. Instead, he froze, waiting for her to move. But she didn't. Instead, her head moved, and she looked at him.  
  
  
"You sure know how to exhaust a girl," she stated lazily, smiling.  
  
  
His chest rumbled with humor. "Sorry."  
  
  
Instead of moving, she laid down against him once more. "But you make a good pillow."  
  
  
He swallowed.  
  
  
"Mmm...can we take a five minute break?"  
  
  
"Sure." He of course, expected her to get up and sit down until she caught her breath. But she didn't. She just, stayed there. The vampire thanked his lucky stars for the second time that day, gracious over the fact that Cordy was still half off him, otherwise she would have felt the irrefutable evidence of the attraction he was not supposed to have towards her. Telling himself he needed to calm down, the vampire counted from 5000 backwards, alternating in Medieval French and Cantonese every other number.   
  
  
  
  
Doyle had to admit that Cordy looked perfectly happy, lying there astride Angel as evening descended on the city. Though from the day they'd all come together to found AI, the Irishman never would have guessed those two would be where they were today.   
  
  
For Angel, the attraction was obvious. The vampire stared, constantly. Not to mention the fact that he could sound like a blubbering idiot when he and Cordy were having simple conversations. None of that dark, smooth, creature of the night speak he usually used. This was awkward, messy, unbroken soil Angel was treading on, and it showed in his weak attempts to grasp it without looking like an idiot.   
  
  
As if that weren't enough to break Doyle's heart, and make him feel elated at the same time, he knew Cordy cared or Angel as well. He didn't know how he knew exactly, maybe those radiant smiles she always gave him, and the way she knew he stared at her sometimes and got a look of womanly satisfaction on her face when she realized what he was doing.   
  
  
Doyle knew if it weren't for Angel's curse, those two would have come together a long time ago. He felt a sudden twinge of guilt for being happy about that. That wasn't right. Cordelia was young; supposed to move on, have a life. Doyle could never give that to her because, well, he was dead. Not just undead, really dead. *Right, man, you're supposed to be happy for her when she finds that special someone...*  
  
  
  
"Maybe we should call it a day," Angel suggested, looking down at the head of hair sprawled out on top of him.   
  
  
"Yeah...sounds good," Cordelia agreed. "Though I think my body froze in this position."  
  
  
"What?"  
  
  
She grunted and pushed herself up onto her arms. "I am so glad our sessions are twice a week..."  
  
  
Angel smiled and sat up. "Me too."  
  
  
"...Cuz if they were everyday, I would be dead."  
  
  
"Oh. I don't work you too hard, do I?"  
  
  
"It's not you, it's me," Cordelia responded with a smile, positioning herself on her rump and stretching her legs out. "I'm out of shape."  
  
  
"You look good to me."  
  
  
They stared at each other for a moment. "...thanks..."  
  
  
"Yeah. So. We should head up. I'm gonna go take a cold shower."  
  
  
"Cold?" An amused, slightly flattered smile irked at the corners of her mouth, and Angel attempted to ignore the expression studiously.   
  
  
He coughed. "Did I say cold?"  
  
  
"Yeah." The smile broadened subtly.   
  
  
He ran a hand over the back of his head. "Oh. Well, I'm trying to conserve...hot...water?"  
  
  
"Why?"  
  
  
"So...Fred has some..." he trailed off lamely, eyes beseeching her to let it go. They looked at each other, and it was quiet for a moment. After some seconds, Angel took an unneeded deep breath. "Cordy, I think we need to talk."   
  
  
The surprised, slightly alarmed look that flashed across her face made him want to grab her and kiss her for the sheer beauty that was her, but then he realized suddenly that her beauty in his eyes in general would have to be discussed if the barely disguised tension between them was to be slackened any.   
  
  
She read the look in his eyes, and grew appropriately serious. "Um...sure. About what?"  
  
  
He gave her a look. "Cordy..."  
  
  
She stopped him with his hand. "I know. But we can't. Talk. It um..." she searched for words. "It wouldn't be fair."  
  
  
He lowered his eyes, as if he'd committed some wrong buy suggesting conversation, as if she'd suddenly reminded him with her simple words that he'd forgotten something key in the whole equation. "Yeah. Unfair." He studied the floor with no small amount of fascination.  
  
  
Doyle's heart broke a little at the scene, and despite the fact that he loved her; he wished he had been able to do more than just die for them in his short career as would be hero. He wished he could take away those restrictions that the world had placed on these two people and left them the freedom to make their own decisions based on nothing save their free will. And dare he admit it, their love.   
  
  
"ANGEL!!!!"  
  
  
The awkward silence of the basement was shattered by Gunn's gruff bark from upstairs, the hint of urgency in the young man's voice not lost on either Cordelia or Angel. The two metaphorically squared their shoulders, wiped the scene that might have been from their minds, and followed one another back up the stairs at a brisk jog.   
  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
I didn't mean to fall in love with you  
And baby there's a name for what you put me through  
It isn't love it's robbery  
I'm sleeping with the ghost of you and me  
  
  
  
"What? What is it?" Angel questioned, blowing into the room like a tornado, Cordy not far behind.   
  
  
"Fred picked something up on the police scanner," Wesley explained. "Something tore up a group of students down at the university..."  
  
  
"Do we know what?"  
  
  
"All we know is that the bodies were eaten away to the bone, but the flesh was left fully intact from the neck up. I can imagine it was quite gruesome."  
  
  
Cordy (and Doyle) snorted. "Ya think?"   
  
  
"All right, I'll go check it out. Gunn, come with me. The rest of you see if you can't find anything that eats people...like that..."  
  
  
Wesley coughed.  
  
  
Everyone rolled their eyes. Angel clenched his jaw. "That is, if that's what you think is best, Wesley," he ground out, trying to stay rational about this. Wesley was the boss, after all.   
  
  
"Well, I think both Gunn and I should accompany you, seeing as to how we three are the most proficient..." Wes paused to give Gunn and Cordelia pointed looks. "...fighters... and I'm sure Fred and Cordelia will be perfectly capable of doing the research."  
  
  
  
Doyle choked on the air that he was made out of.   
  
  
  
"Wait, ain't you the brain?" Gunn protested, holding up one of Wesley's ancient tomes and flashing it in the ex-watcher's face.   
  
  
"Well yes, I've been gifted with a rare balance, in my ability to both..."  
  
  
"Great, so you'll do research? Call us if you find anything."  
  
  
Before Wesley could muster a properly indignant British retort, Angel and Gunn exited the hotel without a backwards glance.   
  
  
"B...b...but I'm quite capable of handling myself..."  
  
  
Cordy sighed and patted Wesley's shoulder in an affectionate, though piteous manner. "We're sure you can, Wesley. Now... take out your great big books and start reading while I go to the bathroom to freshen up."  
  
*Talk about yer ragin' insecurities,* Doyle chuckled to himself as he saw Wesley's expression. The ghost followed Cordelia a bit, appreciating the gentle sway of her hips as she walked. Hey, he was dead, but he was still a guy. With eyes.   
  
  
He paused at the bathroom door though, watching her slip through the threshold and bolt the door behind her. He may be a man, but he wasn't a pig. Most of the time. Instead, he sat down and waited for her.  
  
  
  
Cordy sighed and moved to fix her hair, squinting into the mirror and murmuring disapprovingly at how disheveled she appeared.   
  
  
"God, how does he see anything in you?" she asked, shaking her head as she undid some pins and grabbed a brush from the cabinet. Yeah, she'd noticed. Those looks Angel sometimes gave her, she could feel the heat from his gaze radiating off her back. It made her heart speed up in a way that it definitely wasn't supposed to do. This was Angel, for crying out loud.   
  
  
She began to brush rather savagely through her hair. And say she did give in and admit that she thought he was gorgeous. And that she loved the way he got flustered around her, because it made her feel like the most important thing in the world. Or the way he sort of brushed his hand against hers unknowingly when she brought him his coffee.   
  
  
God, what was she even thinking about? She set the brush down. "You are not supposed to feel like this," she muttered, staring sternly at her own reflection in the glass. "He's your boss! Okay, your ex-boss. Then, there's the whole curse thing. I mean, you don't want him to be all evil-like and, "I'm going to suck your blood" again, do you? Of course not. And he's your friend..." she trailed off, feeling slightly sick. "He's only supposed to be your friend. He's not supposed to make you feel tingly, or whatever." She sighed and plopped her forehead against the cool glass. "Really tingly."   
  
  
  
Doyle, upon hearing conversation in the bathroom, let curiosity get the better of him, and he slipped his head through the door, wondering what Cordelia was doing. Now, over the years he'd heard her talk to herself occasionally in the mirror, but what he was hearing now slightly worried him in that he'd never actually heard her argue with herself. And she sounded sad. The timbre of her voice alone had the power to break his heart like glass. Against his better judgment, he slipped through the bathroom door.   
  
  
"But it's wrong," Cordy reminded herself. "Because of the curse." She paused a minute, eyes furrowing. There was another reason. She knew it was there, felt it every day that she tried to pretend it had never actually been. Ugly things like that left to fester inside, and all. She sighed and forced herself to say the words out loud. Wouldn't that make it feel better?   
  
  
She took a breath. "Because it's betrayal."   
  
  
There. She'd said it. Taking another, calming breath, the seer waited for the self-revelation to whisk the burning ache in her chest away. No such luck. It only made her loathe her feelings for Angel more.   
  
  
He had died for them, dammit!! He died for him because he was Angel's friend. And he died for her because he loved her. It seemed like the ultimate betrayal for her and the vampire both to feel the way they did about each other. It felt like she was making fun of his sacrifice. It would be like taking advantage the fact that he wasn't there, that because he wasn't there, they could move on to each other. Doyle had been the reason they were even alive to be feeling things for each other in the first place. Wouldn't it be mocking him, dirtying the sanctity of his gift to them if she and Angel were to come together? She knew it would. She could feel him; almost sense those green-blue eyes watching them. The thought of his disapproval in her slapped her awake from whatever girlish dream she would have been having and told her quite simply that Doyle's memory deserved better than her petty fantasies involving the one person she shouldn't feel right about loving.   
  
  
Cordy banged her head on the glass again and sighed, forcing her eyes open so she could face her reflection. She furrowed her brow at herself, a mock glare as she tried to chastise herself. "He died for you," she reminded the phantom in the mirror, face stern and unrelenting. The former cheerleader stayed like that for a minute, strict and immobile with herself, as if willing the reflection to give up and forget the crazy notions it had been having as of late. But it only lasted a minute. Before long, the resolve melted, and the sternness drifted away into what could only be described as weary resignation. She sighed again and turned her eyes upward. "Doyle, what kind of mess did you leave us in?" she asked quietly.   
  
  
  
His name on her lips jolted him a thousand times over, the sound of it on her sweet voice floating into the air about him. But it didn't leave him that elated feeling he thought it would when she finally acknowledged him for the first time in so long. It seemed more of a hollow victory now, as he saw the sadness in her eyes. Perhaps his so-called victory would even prove horrific in the long run.   
  
  
For the years he'd been gone now, his sole source of joy was the fact that he'd sacrificed himself so that Cordy and Angel might live their lives to the fullest most wonderful things he knew they could be for two people so inclined as they. People...demons... like him, he didn't think had the future those two had had back then, shining and beautiful, so full of bright potential. It had made his death worthwhile to him, knowing that he'd brought prospective joy to the future of those he held most dear. Angel and Cordy, they would do something with their lives, should they be given the chance to live them truly. They would save people, and save each other, and be generally good for the world. And through it all, it was his only source of solace, the fact that with every day he got to see Cordelia and Angel both grow, find themselves, and even to an extent, find each other. They brought out a certain beauty in one another that Doyle had always been unable to achieve. And they could do it in part, because of him. It had been his saving grace. His justification.   
  
  
To hear that there was still a part of Cordelia that remembered him and held on to him was both touching and devastating together. Doyle had been content to waft in the shadows and watch his beautiful princess flower unto herself in the knowledge that his refusal to forget her stemmed from nothing save his own determination. The fact that she was oblivious to his attentions made the practice safe, because he had the clean conscience of knowing that his being there didn't disrupt her life any more than the fact that the sodas disappeared two times faster every week than they were supposed to. But now, his fragile façade was shattered, lying at is feet in a ragged pile of broken denial and self-assurance. The confessional in the bathroom had revealed the fact that perhaps, he was still a part of their lives and in a not so good way in that they were feeling guilty at all because of what he had done for them.   
  
  
It hadn't only been Angel's curse that the layered conversation in the basement when Cordy had said it would have been "unfair" to talk. It didn't matter to Doyle that perhaps, the curse had been the main factor. What mattered was his hypocrisy. The fact that he was still even a factor in the first place was harrowing enough. The ghost's conscience whispered wicked things into his ear, and he suddenly wished he'd never developed it, or that penchant for self-sacrifice that had gotten him in this mess in the first place. He reckoned that if his stupid conscience hadn't come into play, he wouldn't feel as miserable as he did, regardless of the fact that he wasn't ultimately, the deciding factor in what happened between Cordy and Angel.   
  
  
Jolting him from his thoughts, Cordy perked herself up in the mirror and took a deep breath before throwing open the restroom door and marching out like the trooper she was. She looked at Wesley and Fred, studying diligently in the office, and brushed a few stray wisps of hair from her face before smiling and joining them. Doyle followed, feeling hollow.   
  
  
  
"EUREKA!!!"   
  
  
Wesley's exclamation forty minutes later served to yank Doyle's focus from his complicated thoughts involving the possibility that his not letting go of Cordy was a factor in her not letting go of him in return and pushed the phantom's concentration instead, to the demon of the week.   
  
  
"It's a vacuum cleaner?" Fred asked, slightly puzzled as she continued to type away on her laptop.  
  
  
Wesley made a face. "I realize the saying is somewhat outdated, but you could all at least humor me. I did find something."  
  
  
"What?" Cordelia asked, relieved as she shut the book she had taken out. It wasn't as if she had been reading it in the first place.  
  
  
"The demon. There are only two particular forms of demon that completely devour the flesh of the body but leave the head of their victims perfectly intact. And I believe I've found them."   
  
  
This was where the ex-Watcher frowned.   
  
  
"Unfortunately, the way in which one goes about killing them are completely different from one another, so we're going to have to prepare for both forms. The Moa Gwei sect requires the use of an ancient Chinese Chi-Spell and the symbol of Dei to banish them to another dimension, because regular means won't destroy them. The other species, the Shiou Dee branch, requires decapitation, burning of the severed head, and complete removal of the heart, lungs, and stomach of the demon..."  
  
  
"So... we need to get all this stuff together and meet Gunn and Angel somewhere so we can give it to them and help them kill the things, right?" Cordelia interrupted, highly uninterested in Wesley's recent lecture involving his frightening, sometimes sad, demonology expertise.   
  
  
"Um, yes. We should be able to pick up the supplies and the symbol in Chinatown. I'll call Gunn and Angel to alert them of the predicament, and we'll prepare to meet them at the crime scene."  
  
  
"Oh geez, they don't know what they're dealing with, do they? They're not prepared. All they had were...big, pointy metal objects," Cordelia realized, with Wesley's words. Her brow furrowed worriedly, as did Fred's.   
  
  
Wesley looked back and forth between the two women. "Um, I'm sure that they haven't made much leeway yet, we only just picked up the case on scanner an hour ago. With any luck, we'll have the buggers vanquished or disemboweled by morning."   
  
  
  
Doyle watched the AI team spring into action from where he sat in the back corner of the office. He didn't move to follow them tonight, having seen the look of concern in his Princess's expression regarding the potential danger of his best friend. The Irishman had both hated that particularly rude wake up call and appreciated it. Instead of tagging along with baited breath tonight, he decided to take a walk back to the apartment. He felt like seeing the stars tonight. He felt like thinking.   
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
The ghost of you and me  
When will it set me free  
I hear the voices call  
Following footsteps down the hall  
Trying to save what's left   
Of my heart and soul  
  
  
  
"Thanks, Dennis..." Cordy accepted the drink and flipped on the TV, though Doyle could tell her mind was a million miles away. She had returned from the long night at work looking tired before hopping into the shower, not having made a comment on the state of her splattered demon covered clothing. THAT's how he could tell she wasn't all here.   
  
  
She flipped the television to catch the last half hour of one of those late night movies normal people don't watch while sipping her lemonade. After fifteen minutes she glared at the screen. "Why don't they just admit they love each other and get ON with it! Ugh!" She buried her face into her pillow out of frustration.   
  
  
Doyle, sitting next to her nodded in agreement, looking sagely at the couple beating around the love bush upon the TV. Dennis snorted from the armchair and made a move for the remote. Cordy slapped her hand over it and drew it to her chest with the reflexes of a cat as it began to wiggle off the nightstand. "Dennis..." she warned.  
  
  
Dennis sighed but relented before getting up and stepping into the wall leading into the kitchen to get his own drink. "Want anything, Doyle?"  
  
  
"A million things Dennis, but Ginger Ale ain't one of 'em..." Doyle returned good-naturedly. Dennis shrugged and popped the lid on his can. Cordelia rolled her eyes, taking them away from the screen for a second. "God, Dennis, you drink enough soda for TWO ghosts, that Canada Dry needs to last us until this weekend!" she chastised.  
  
  
"Sorry," Dennis muttered, sparing an exasperated look at Doyle before the "older" ghost stuck his half empty can back into the fridge.   
  
  
"You do what your heart tells you to do..." A male voice, heavy with grief, drew everyone's attention back to the TV screen. It was gruff with barely controlled emotion and the tremulousness of one about to endure a tremendous sacrifice. "...and if you come back to me one day, then we'll know it's right, darlin'..."   
  
  
"I can't... I have to stay with you..." the female lead made an attempt to resist, but a hand snaked between them and laid a finger haltingly to her lips. An overplayed dramatic cliché suddenly made Doyle want to drink himself into oblivion.   
  
  
"No sweetheart, you gotta see what else the world has to offer before you give up everything on my accord."  
  
  
The girl wrenched her head to the side and looked downward. "Please don't say you don't have anything to offer me..."  
  
  
"I don't..."  
  
  
"You're love is enough!"  
  
  
"No, it isn't."  
  
  
She turned back to him, in absolute shock. "How can you..."  
  
  
"Say it? I can cause it's true, baby." His voice dropped to a husky whisper.   
"Somewhere out there is a guy that can give you his love... and everything else you'd ever need. He can really make you smile. All I can do is bring you more misery..."  
  
  
She looked down, speechless. He tilted her chin upward with his hand to force her stare. "Go..." one quiet plea.  
  
  
She turned around, sobbing, and ran off in the rain. Cordelia flipped it off before the scene could even fade. "When does that ever happen in real life..." she drawled   
sarcastically, voice suddenly tired.   
  
  
Doyle smiled sadly. "Don't know, Princess."   
  
  
"Well, I'm going to bed. Night, Dennis." She feigned a yawn before practically running out of the room.   
  
  
Dennis looked after her with infinite sadness. "Looks like you're not the only one that's hanging on..."   
  
  
Doyle picked indecisively at the lint on one of her throw pillows. "I know."  
  
  
"I think I'm gonna turn in, too."  
  
  
"Night, Dennis."  
  
  
"Bye, Doyle."  
  
  
The choice of Dennis's words might have been cause for question if Doyle wasn't so wrapped up in his own thoughts. He'd been around long enough to see Delia cry some, then get over herself, apparently all in the same week. Sure, at first he was disappointed she and Angel didn't grieve for him a little longer, but after some time he discovered each has his own way of expressing anguish. Angel's was to lock himself up in a dark corner somewhere and mentally flog himself. Cordy's was to add another level to those highly built walls she placed around herself and act indifferent. That first night she woke up screaming his name and crying had shown him that he was dearly missed.   
  
  
Unfortunately those screams made him wish he wasn't missed, because the look in her eyes as she came out of the nightmare had broken his heart. And now, to find out suddenly, that he could be destroying her life from BEYOND the grave, well... he was the one flogging himself mentally now. She had so much to offer a man. Especially one that looked like needed her. There was sadness in Angel's eyes. There always had been, which was probably why Angel had struck a chord deep within Doyle when they'd first met. Those who ran from their demons usually ran together.   
  
  
*God, 'm sorry, Delia...* he thought to himself, still sitting on the couch. He fiddled with the cuff of his leather jacket errantly, a nervous habit he'd seemed to develop after finding out he was a demon. He'd never really thought about it until now, how funny it was that even in death, he was the same. Still weak, still clinging to something he should have released a long time ago. Something he still wanted, even when he knew better.   
  
  
He looked out into the late night sky; realized morning wasn't too far away. Doyle sat at the edge of her bed, watching her sleep for a bit. He studied her under the glow of the streetlights wafting into her window. She'd changed since he'd known her, but he realized it wasn't enough. She still held on a little bit, too. She needed to move on, be happy. Selfishly, he wondered if she'd be able to do that and let him stay all at the same time. He touched the hair on the side of her face gently. How he had wanted to do that when he had been alive! It felt marvelous, soft and smooth beneath his touch, something worth treasuring for eternity. But he didn't have that long. Not after today, anyhow.   
  
  
Sighing, he began to talk to her. Just quiet stuff, things he liked about her, things he was seeing in her as she grew. He even made a joke about his chances with her diminishing even more with his transition from half demon to full ghost. She would have laughed at that, maybe, if she'd heard him. A small part of him believed she heard him, every night. Funny how one simple thing could soothe a restless spirit like that. He talked about how much he'd enjoyed scaring Gunn this morning, and that Dennis was too square to actually try something like that. That Gunn, he looked like an okay kid. Seemed nice, good sense of humor. And hey, he and Doyle both liked seeing Wesley scream like a girl.  
  
  
She stirred in her sleep at this, and he chuckled a little, hand still playing lightly over her hair. "Yeah, I know. Wesely's funny, for a British guy. Most of 'em are starched shirts an' tweed an' sugar 'n milk in their tea. He's more of a regular tea guy, I s'pose. At least he knows what he's doin' in the killin' demons department, I guess. I don' know how he deals wid half the books he does. Musta been a real nerd growin' up, eh, Princess? I can tell he makes Angel smile tho, you'n he'n Gunn, that Fred girl. Angel needs to smile more, it makes him that much more human, yah? It helps him connect to humanity, 'n those lost souls he works wid. And you seem to do tha' to 'im. Make him laugh. You know what I mean, one o' those good, from the belly, deep laughs. Man, I wish I'd be able ta see that again. You remind the man that it takes more'n a soul to make someone human."  
  
  
He paused, chuckling to himself. " See tha? I went an' got a lil wise after me death. Guess mum was right when she said nothin' short o death would do that for me." He laughed to himself a little more, staring at her face.   
  
  
She didn't look troubled when she slept. He knew his visions hurt her sometimes, well, all the time, but now, she didn't look so burdened. He'd known what it was like, carrying the weight of everyone else's pain with you. His heart reached out to her. He knew she'd be a strong one, link to the Powers and everything. Another reason they didn't need him, he supposed. He smiled through all the hurt and kept talking to her.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Watching the candle flicker out in the evening glow  
I can't let go  
When will the night be over?  
  
  
  
Dennis heard every word of what Doyle said, and wondered if he should turn away for interfering in something so intensely private. But he couldn't find himself to do it. There was something beautiful in the way he talked to her tonight, a timbre in his voice that was shaky but strong at the same time. It was a depressing type of poetry, and he needed to see it because Doyle might just go and get what Dennis himself had always wanted. It might be as close as he would ever get.   
  
  
It was heartbreaking; more and more so as the night drew on, as if Doyle's resolve was breaking with the darkness. Dennis could hear the tears coming off of the other phantom, heard them splash into the air then fizzle out into the air as if they had never existed. Ghosts weren't meant to cry like this before going to heaven. It was supposed to be something uplifting, it was supposed to take all your pain and anger and hurt away. Doyle seemed tortured by it, and Dennis began to believe he wouldn't be able to do it. Who knew that saying goodbye would be the hardest obstacle a ghost ever faced?   
  
  
The hours drew on, and the voice became shakier and quieter, and by and by, Dennis was convinced Doyle wouldn't do it. It was too much torture for the ex-half demon, the sound of his voice alone enough to make angels weep. He truly talked to her tonight, as if this were the last time they'd ever get the chance. Dennis wished Cordelia were able to respond. It might have given his friend closure. It might have been a little easier.   
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
I didn't mean to fall in love with you  
And baby there's a name for what you put me through  
It isn't love it's robbery  
I'm sleeping with the ghost of you and me  
  
  
  
The morning crept in slowly, alerting Doyle to his waning time. It filtered in amongst his talk, glowing pink around the edges as the sun broke through the stars and peeked through the horizon in all its fiery glory. The ghost looked at the girl. "Princess? I want ya to know that I'll always love you, yah? So take care darlin', and keep an eye on the others fer me. We both know you're the only one competent enough ta do it. Remember that I'll watch out fer ya whenever I can, you'n the others. Take care of Dennis, too. He needs as much love as he can get, just like everyone else. And last? Move on, huh? Don't forget me, but don't hang on, Princess. There's more to life than the memory of this Irish pauper. There's whole worlds out there waitin' for ya to light them up, and I think Angel's is one of 'em. He's a good man, that one. I think he can love you, at least as much as I did. He looks at you the same way I do, like you're the beginnin' and end of everythin' in the world. He's a lucky one, that one."   
  
  
He paused to eye the coming dawn, saw it encroaching with every moment, closer, closer. The first rays of morning bled into Cordelia's bedroom window, and Doyle swiped ineffectually at a tear that had escaped. He thought he'd stopped crying earlier in the night. "Don't let some silly curse turn your course, eh? In the end, you'll come through, you'n he. If anyone can. Keep hopin', darlin', and don't be afraid to risk, yah? And don't let him chicken out of it neither. You fight for what you two have, an' don't let me, or the damn PTB's take any shred of happiness away from ye that you can grab onta."   
  
  
The sun's rays filtered in through the crack in the curtains as phantom droplets fell from blue-green eyes turned translucent in death. "Just ah..." his voice cracked. "Don't forget me, huh, Delia?"   
  
  
She murmured in her sleep, hand opening and closing to grasp gently at her comforter, and he took it as her unspoken promise. Smiling, he traced the outside of her cheek with the tips of his fingers and took a shaky, unneeded breath. "I love you, Princess," he told her softly.  
  
  
If she remembered anything about him, he hoped it would be how he had felt, still felt, would always feel about her. He hoped there would be a place in her heart where he would not be forgotten, even if he himself was to be erased forever. One last deep breath, and he turned away to face the coming dawn, hands in pockets, eyes not quite meeting the sun. He didn't turn to look back at her.   
  
  
"Goodbye."  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
I didn't mean to fall in love with you  
And baby there's a name   
For what you put me through  
It isn't love, it's robbery  
I'm sleeping with the ghost of you and me  
  
  
  
From his side of the door, Dennis heard the small, breathy admission.   
  
  
Goodbye.  
  
  
Doyle had said it.  
  
  
Goodbye.   
  
  
Almost immediately he heard the soft whoosh of air, the chiming of distant bells that only phantoms like himself could hear. He heard the gates swing open as another angel was whisked away from the hardships and grief of the world, deposited into paradise. All of Doyle's earthly pains would be forgotten now, as he joined the ranks of the truly good in heaven. There, Allan Francis Doyle would forget the heartbreaking pain of his past and the unrequited, selfless, all encompassing love he'd had for Cordelia Chase on this, the earthly plane. He would forget her smile, and her laughter, forget the comments she'd made to him, and forget everything about her that would make him long for a return to this existence. All he would know was peace. Eternal rest, blissfully unaware of the destitution that was life which those on earth had to endure daily.   
  
  
And Doyle left behind his own clear conscience, for whatever happened now; he had cut the cord that bound him to the people here, left them to their own devices. The drama that was Cordelia and Angel had yet to unfold, but Dennis was overjoyed that his friend had finally allowed himself to find peace with the issue at whole. Perhaps the vampire and the seer would find some of their own in the future, now that that particular part the past had been forcibly removed from them both in the cautery of Doyle's second sacrifice.   
  
  
Doyle had tied himself to Cordelia as a ghost so as not to forget a thing about her, about his love for her. Little had he known that his refusal to say goodbye had manifested itself within Cordelia as well, for the dead can always effect those that they loved, living or not. She had felt tied to him as well, those years he had stayed behind. She, in her own way, had refused to say goodbye was well. The Irishman had so easily sacrificed his body those years ago for them. His very essence had been so much harder, but he had been willing. He had been willing to lose everything he held dear on the chance that those he loved would find something beautiful that could not be marred by the wistful hope of a long dead man. Dennis wondered if vampire and seer would keep his sacrifice from falling into obscurity.  
  
  
As he felt Doyle's presence forever exit the small apartment, Dennis allowed an envious sigh, and the promise that he would do everything in his power so that the Irishman was neither forgotten nor that his forfeiture would go in vain. He turned eyes heavenward. "Goodbye, Doyle."  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
I didn't mean to fall in love with you  
And baby there's a name   
For what you put me through  
It isn't love, it's robbery  
I'm sleeping with the ghost of you and me  
  
  
  
Morning dawned shortly after, and on a strange whim, Cordelia found herself rousing before 10. She stirred in bed languidly; feeling the warmth of her blankets around her in way that wasn't as sticky as it usually was during other mornings. Instead, it felt crisp against her skin, sharp and new. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, and she regarded the light as it bounced off her of her beige ceiling. A strange morning indeed. She wondered if it was the season changing, or the fact that she'd gotten a beautiful night's rest that invigorated her somewhat, made her feel as if she were starting on a clean slate. She smiled to herself and tossed the comforter aside, sitting up in bed. Strange, this morning. It felt like a brand new day. She stood up and stretched, yawning like a cat. It felt like something fresh was just about to begin. Her small, speculative smile gradually turned into a full-blown grin. Yeah...today was just the day for something new.   
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I didn't mean to fall in love with you  
And baby there's a name   
For what you put me through  
It isn't love, it's robbery  
I'm sleeping with the ghost of you and me  
  
  
  
Angel looked at the clock on the wall as he sat in his room, reading. Sleep had eluded him during the free hours he had had last night, and so he had settled down with one of his preferred somber books of poetry and read, though mind and spirit had wandered farther than the reaches of the words before him many a time during the course of the eve. The clock read 8am, and he realized that it would still be an hour or two before Wesley and Cordelia would arrive. Fred was asleep down the hall, exhausted after killing the Shiou Dee demons, with all the decapitation and subsequent burning of innards. Gunn would arrive after ten wanting a late breakfast, and he and Cordelia... his mind trailed off.   
  
  
God, he had been tempted yesterday. To just grab her and kiss her and screw the consequences, screw the guilt... he sighed to himself. But she was right. It wouldn't have been fair. He closed the book in his hands, realizing that the words had just begun to blur together, alternating with words from his own thoughts which had for some odd reason, put themselves on the page whenever he looked down, as if accusing him of something. Getting up and running a frustrated hand through his un-gelled hair, the vampire moved to reshelf the volume amongst its brethren in his collection.   
  
  
A knock on the door disrupted his attempt to avoid brooding, and he disregarded putting his book back in alphabetical order beside the others when he heard it. He wondered if it was Fred, needing something, and he padded across the room towards the door, ignoring the frazzled state of his hair. Hand on knob, he turned and pushed gently.   
  
  
Even before the threshold was revealed, her smell hit him. The scent of raspberries from her shampoo and the perfume of her vanilla and honey lotion invaded his enhanced senses and inside, both man and demon flared with recognition, and a guilty hint of excitement. However when her face was revealed to him on the other side of the door, he only offered a small smile in greeting. "Cordy."  
  
  
She beamed up at him, radiant and full of a light that made his nostalgia for sunshine vanish. He had his own sun shining upon him every day. "Angel."  
  
  
"You uh...you're early." He stated. He knew it had been an inane observation on his part, but it helped him focus on something besides the fact that the bronzed skin on neck and shoulder so tauntingly revealed by the little wrap shirt she had on was full blown and tantalizing in his face.   
  
  
She smiled again and pushed into his room, despite the fact that he'd neglected to invite her in. When she deposited the box of whatever she was carrying on the stand and plopped full length onto his bed, he thought he might have to run or face something far more fear inspiring than even the slimiest Ghorra demon. She looked up at him. "Yup. I woke up...and today, was just..." she looked at him, and trailed off, knowing he would complete the thought in his own head.   
  
  
"You brought donuts," he observed, ignoring the sparks in her eyes that made her shine like a diamond.   
  
  
"Yeah! I thought we could have breakfast."  
  
  
This earned a small smile. "Do you have..."  
  
  
"Jelly? Yeah. I know what my vampire likes," she pointed out, rolling onto her stomach so she could grab the box from where she had deposited it on the nightstand.   
  
  
He swallowed.   
  
  
"Not that I'm saying I wouldn't like to have breakfast with you but um..."  
  
  
She turned around and settled the donuts in her lap, turning off the perkiness, and looking at him seriously. "Angel..."  
  
  
He noted the change in demeanor instantly and sat at the edge of the mattress, staring straight ahead, slightly apprehensive.  
  
  
She saw that look in his eye, like he was afraid he'd done something wrong and was about to get the third degree for it. Her lips quirked at the corner, and she let herself admit for the first time, without any recriminations, that he was absolutely gorgeous when he did that. Reaching out, she put her hand against his cheek and turned his face towards her. "I think..."   
  
  
His eyes widened slightly, and she noted again that everything he did was not lost to her in its absolute beauty.   
  
  
"Yeah, Cordy?" His hand reached up to cover hers before he even knew what the blasted limb was doing.   
  
  
Her smile was soft, and she squeezed the tips of his fingers with her own.   
  
  
"Angel, I think it's time we had that talk."  
  
  
  
END 


End file.
